


Men, Like Books

by violentzsz



Category: RPF - Fandom
Genre: College AU, Kissing, M/M, Modern-ish, Romantic Era, Romantic Poets - Freeform, Romanticism, Tutoring, friends to lovers?, it’s just cute drabbley stuff, john is reluctantly in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26278939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentzsz/pseuds/violentzsz
Summary: Byron’s being late wasn’t worrisome, however, for that was just how Byron was. It was simply— simply put— a waste of John’s time to wait around for a man who didn’t show up.
Relationships: Lord Byron/John Keats
Kudos: 8





	Men, Like Books

John rolled through the usual string of motions that came along with Byron being late: twiddled his thumbs, chewed his pen, opened a book he’d read ten times, closed the book, twirled his hair, did his homework, opened a book he’d read a thousand times, closed the book, went to the restroom, came back, sat down, chewed his pen, wrote a poem (or two, or three, perhaps even five poems), twiddled his thumbs, bit his nails, and, eventually, got up to wander around the library. 

Byron had been late often when their tutoring sessions had first begun, but he grew out of the habit quickly as he warmed up to John; a little too much for John’s liking, as it so happened, for John found himself becoming a little too warm with the man. Byron’s being late wasn’t worrisome, however, for that was just how Byron was. It was simply— simply put— a waste of John’s time to wait around for a man who didn’t show up. 

John became more focused on his search around the library, mumbling, “Milton, Milton, M-, M-I-, M-I-L-“ and various things of that nature to himself as he searched the M’s, the M-I’s, and the M-I-L’s for a specific poet’s collected works. 

He ran his hands— his thin, nervous hands— along the spines of each book and brought his nose closer to the shelf as he looked. He was certain there had been a copy of Milton’s poetical works in the university library; he had read it a dozen times. 

He searched the back of the library and mused on Byron again. He had improved greatly in his studies, but he was far from out of the woods. To pass his course, he would have to obtain at least a 90 percent on his biology final, and the most he’d manage to get on any of the tests he’d taken was a mere 87. He could do it, though. John was sure of it. He just needed to try a little harder, and they needed to study a little longer. Stay up a little later. Push a little farther. Byron was heartbreakingly intelligent with an astonishing talent for not doing enough. 

John’s fingers— nervous— pulled a book that looked remarkably like the one he searched for from the shelf and, disappointed, put it back. He reached the bottom of the shelf, got up, and started at the top again. He was sure it was here somewhere. He pulled another book out— again with his nervous fingers— and put it back, once more musing on Byron. What was it about him? He was undeniably attractive, but that was never an issue in the matter. Byron always commented, usually to Shelley in their theology class while gesturing to his stack of second-hand and worse-for-wear textbooks, that, “John picks his men like he picks his books: intelligent and not very pretty.” John had blushed and sulked for the remainder of the class, for Byron was right; he had often been seduced by a beautiful intellect by the most grotesque looking men. Byron was a separate case. Incomparable. Everyone had been seduced by Byron’s looks at one time or another— even Shelley could admit that he had fallen victim to that charm. 

“Oh, where is it?” John finally huffed and straightened himself. “I could have sworn I turned it–“

He was turned abruptly and kissed unceremoniously, and he knows it’s Byron purely from the messiness of the kiss, softness of his lips, and curve of his jaw. And who else would kiss him in the back of the university library?

The taste of the other man was also unmistakeable, and so incredibly intoxicating. Byron always tasted like cigarettes and expensive wine, and always took their kisses a little too far. John turned out of the kiss and pushed Byron’s hand out from underneath his white dress shirt. 

“Not here! Are you ignorant—?”

But Byron’s lips were on his own again, and John wasn’t fighting it anymore. His kisses were hard and greedy, like his hands, and John’s own hands— those thin, nervous hands— were twisted in Byron’s coat and pulling him closer. 

“Not here—“ Byron mocked, a smile on his lips and John’s tongue almost in his mouth. “Not here, are you ignorant—?”

“Oh, shut up—“ John almost moaned, just barely above a breath when he closed the distance between them, and bit down hard on Byron’s lower lip. Byron doesn’t stifle his moan.

“Oh, I’m into that.”

“You’re disgusting.” It’s playful banter, and he smiled as he said it, and they kissed again, hard, and grabbed and pulled, hard, and John knew he was getting worked up in a school library, of all places, but that’s just what he got when he fell for a man like Byron.

But Byron’s kisses grew softer, until they were gentle, lingering pecks, and a book was pressed firmly into John’s hungry hands.

He blinked, mind still foggy. He didn’t comprehend what had happened until he looked down and saw the copy of Milton’s poems he was looking for.

“I figure you were looking for this?” Byron said, a bright smile on his face as he taps the book with the knuckle of his forefinger. “I did my homework.”

“Byron,” John mumbled, confused eyebrows knitting together and worrying his forehead as they always did. “You’re not studying Milton.”

“No.” He turned away, towards the table where John’s bag and books were placed. “I’m studying you.”

John watched him swagger along, the faint, almost undetectable limp in his step a sort of intimate detail John was proud to have found, pained to have realized, and comforted to see, as he took in a deep, fragile breath.

He held Milton against his heart and leaned heavily on the bookshelf.


End file.
